


Respite

by menel



Series: The Blind Verse Companion [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's <strong>our</strong> burden," Dean corrected. "You're not alone in this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published on my LiveJournal on November 21, 2010. It fulfilled the prompt 'face: eyelids' on my Kiss Bingo card. The version of the fish and loaves story was taken from Danny Boyle's excellent film Millions. 
> 
> The fic contains blanket spoilers for Season 6 until episode 7, "Family Matters." In terms of time line, it slots into the title story of the Blind Verse, specifically the scene where Dean goes for a drive after an argument with Sam and believes that he 'lost time somehow.' This is what happened during that missing time.

Banner made by [Loverstar.](http://loverstar.livejournal.com)

[ ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v300/ciel_en_rouge/Supernatural%20Artwork/?action=view&current=Respite-Version2-1.png)

Dean found himself sitting on a steel bench outside a convenience store nursing a bottle of whiskey. He had just come to the conclusion that whoever had said that dogs were a man’s best friend had clearly never been on intimate terms with Jack. Or Jim. Or Johnnie. Dean would take Jack, Jim or Johnnie over a dog any day. He had become best friends with them the year he had come back from Hell. His friendship with them had soared to new heights when Team Free Will had been trying to avert the apocalypse. When Dean really thought about it, that wasn’t all that long ago, but there were other days, and this was one of them, when it felt like another lifetime. Dean had been neglecting his friends. Oh, he’d kept them company in the early months when he’d just moved in with Lisa and Ben. But as he eased into that unfamiliar civilian life, he began seeing them less and less. They weren’t the appropriate company to have around family. At least, not the way Dean was used to having them around. He still went out with them from time to time, but the key was moderation. Everything in moderation. That was the even keel of suburban life.   
  
In the space of several weeks, suburbia had taken on the sheen of a hazy memory, and Dean was becoming intimately reacquainted with his former friends. They were reliable. No matter how fucked up things got (and things were plenty fucked up), you could always count on them. They were undemanding and best of all, you could find them anywhere. No playing hard to get with these guys. Yeah, Jack, Jim and Johnnie. The best mates a man could have.  
  
Dean took another swig from the bottle. Out of the corner of his eye he registered a familiar form standing at the corner of the convenience store. He turned his head. It was his favorite Angel of the Lord. Castiel stood there a moment longer before walking towards Dean and sitting beside him on the bench. Dean swallowed another mouthful of whiskey before speaking.  
  
“What brings you here, Cas? Veronica’s Veil in the neighborhood?”  
  
Dean despised the scorn in his own voice, knowing full well that Castiel didn’t deserve it, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d had an awful lot to drink.  
  
“Y’know what would be really useful?” he went on, waving the lip of the whiskey bottle in the air, “that jug that could turn water into wine. Cana, was it?” Dean leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t get why angelic weapons are actually . . . y’know . . . weapons. If put to use properly, they could do a lot of good. Like that whole multiplying loaves and fish? I mean, that would solve world hunger, don’t you think?”  
  
“You are confusing miracles with weapons,” Castiel said simply. “Besides, the multiplication of loaves and fish was not a real miracle,” he added.  
  
“No?” Dean glanced back, interested.  
  
“No. Many people had brought their own food to the mount that day,” Castiel explained. “When the time came to eat and the loaves and fish were passed among the people, most chose to eat their own food so that the loaves and fish could be shared among those who had nothing. The act of sharing gave the appearance that there was more food than there actually was, and so your Bible recorded it as a miracle.”  
  
“A shining moment for humanity.”  
  
The pair fell into a brief silence before Castiel broke it.  
  
“You have been drinking a lot.”  
  
“Thanks for that observation, Sherlock.” Dean was about to take another sip but stopped. “How would you know that anyway? Have you been spying on me?” His attempt at humor fell flat and although unintentional, his last question almost sounded accusatory.  
  
“I check in on you from time to time.”  
  
Dean laughed, but it was filled with self-loathing. “What? When you’re on break from fighting your civil war?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dean started. He hadn’t expected that response. He sat back and looked at Castiel seriously. The angel’s intense blue gaze was directed solely at him. “Why are you really here, Cas?”  
  
Castiel held out a hand in offering. “Will you come with me?”  
  


  
* * * * *

It was nice to be asked for a change, instead of just being whisked off to wherever Castiel sought fit to whisk him off to. That’s what Dean thought as he stood in the center of a medium-sized room. It was sparsely but luxuriously furnished. There was a table to his left with two chairs. Quite elegant really. Some artwork on the walls. Nothing religious, Dean noted. The walls themselves were an interesting shade. Dean might’ve described them as periwinkle but that would’ve been far too gay. That’s something Sam would’ve said . . . once upon a time. Dean cleared his throat and looked at the carpeted floor. **Sam.** His brother was the reason Dean had become reacquainted with Jack, Jim and Johnnie in the first place.

When Dean glanced behind him, he had to prevent himself from doing a double take. Castiel was sitting at the foot of the queen-sized bed but somewhere along the way, he’d shed his tax accountant coat and rather formal suit jacket. His navy blue tie had been loosened and he was watching Dean expectantly, still with that same intense blue gaze. It was the most relaxed – the most human – Dean had seen Castiel in some time and if he noticed how Cas’s eyes matched the color of his tie, then Dean ignored that too. He sat down on the bed next to Cas, his hand running down the side of the soft, downy white bedspread.

“Very Town & Country,” he said, patting the bedspread absently. “So,” he glanced sideways at the angel. “Where are we?”

“My place.”

“Your place?” Dean repeated, clearly indicating that was not enough of an explanation.

Castiel nodded, clearly thinking that was enough of an explanation.

“Your place? Like The Beautiful Room?” Dean prodded.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “But this is not The Beautiful Room,” he added.

Dean was about to say something in response but rubbed his eyes instead. “So,” he said. “You have your own place. What is this? Your little love shack?” 

It was meant to be a joke, but when Dean looked at Castiel, the angel was visibly startled.

Dean’s expression grew serious. “Why did you bring me here?”

Castiel stood up and took a few steps away from the bed. If Dean didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Castiel was nervous. But Castiel never got nervous. Or anxious. Or showed any kind of fear. Those were distinctly human responses and after the angel’s flirtation with his diminishing grace two years ago, Dean thought those responses had been wiped from Castiel’s experience. He didn’t pretend to know what it would be like to be a being made of pure light, ageless and eternal, how differently Castiel must see the world, see **him**. But he was acutely aware that Castiel’s actions had put him on a journey that was far from his original path, and Dean liked to think that he had something to do with that. Sam would’ve said that he’d corrupted an angel. Dammit. Why couldn’t he get Sam out of his head? Had their last confrontation gotten under his skin so deeply?

“Because your brother is always with you,” Castiel said suddenly, his back to Dean.

Goddamn angels and their mind-reading abilities. If they couldn’t figure out that thoughts were supposed to be private, it went a long way to explaining why Cas still didn’t have any sense of personal boundaries, no matter how hard Dean had tried to teach him otherwise.

“I brought you here to be away from him,” Castiel explained, turning around. “Even for just a little while. A respite,” he added, as though the word had just occurred to him.

A respite. Dean turned the expression over in his mind. It sounded so very Castiel to him. Castiel who would never bring him to a bar for a drink or to pick up chicks. Castiel who wouldn’t even use the phase, ‘Take a break.’ But Castiel would bring Dean to a place that was private and special to him for a **respite**.

“Well, now that we’re here, what are we supposed to do?” Dean inquired.

Castiel was suddenly in front of him, standing so close that all sense of personal space simply didn’t exist. Dean held his ground even though the angel had startled him . . . **again**. Without the coat and jacket, Dean realized he could see how slender Castiel was, how well those pants actually fit on his waist and hips when they weren’t being hidden by that oversized khaki coat. And if Dean thought that was a strange detail to notice, he ignored that too. This is a vessel, Dean tried to remind himself, but it was hard to look at that body and think of Jimmy Novak instead of Cas. Not that Dean was looking at that body.

Castiel, on the other hand, was most intently looking at Dean. In Dean’s presence, Castiel was almost always intently looking at him, even though Dean rarely seemed to notice. But Dean was fully aware of that gaze now when he looked up and met it. Things seemed to move in slow motion then and Dean wasn’t sure if this was some Jedi mind trick that Cas was pulling on him, or whether the alcohol had dulled his senses and his wit to the point that everything was registering slower than it ought to. Whatever the reason, Dean thought he was having an out-of-body experience when Castiel leaned down and kissed him.

Dean blinked. Had that happened? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it had. His lips were tingling from the vanished pressure and he felt a slight dampness as though Castiel had opened his mouth. Without being fully conscious of it, Dean licked his lips to see if Castiel’s taste was on them. It was. Castiel was waiting, with his intense blue gaze and serious expression. He was waiting to see what Dean would do next, if Dean would give him permission to continue.

Permission was granted when Dean grabbed hold of Castiel’s tie and pulled him down none-too-gently for another kiss. This one was rougher and more demanding, as if that would assure Dean that this was really happening, that he was really kissing Castiel on a bed, in a strange room that was Castiel’s private place. Dean was certain when Castiel returned the kiss, immediately opening his mouth and allowing Dean to deepen it. He was even more certain when Castiel eased himself into Dean’s lap, straddling him while his hands set to work slipping off Dean’s outer shirt. Even though Dean’s mind couldn’t register what was going on, his body was reacting appropriately and his own hands clearly didn’t need any direction. He had already removed Castiel’s tie and had just about finished unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt. A few moments later the shirt was being slipped off the angel’s shoulders. Castiel broke the kiss momentarily to pull Dean’s under shirt over his head, before he pushed Dean down onto the bed and began kissing him again.

Dean was mentally freaking out. 'Holy shit, since when was the angel so aggressive?' he couldn’t help wondering. A thought that was quickly followed by, 'Holy shit, since when did the angel know what to **do?'** Because Castiel, so often oblivious to human customs and social conventions, to basic human experiences, clearly knew what do to. But Dean recognized that it was more than that. He knew it because Castiel began hitting all his spots: just the right amount of pressure on his left hip, a hand on the small of his back, the graze of teeth on his nipple. It was as if Cas was going through a list he had memorized by heart, a list of how to please Dean. And that was the biggest revelation of them all: 'Holy shit, they had done this before.' 

There was no denying it when Castiel hooked his leg around Dean’s in such a way that he was niftily able to reverse their positions, comfortably settling and spreading himself beneath Dean. Dean only had a moment to take in the unfamiliar sight of a debauched angel before Castiel grabbed his face and whispered, “Dean, you are thinking too much. Just . . . go with it.”

That was the last thing Dean had expected Castiel to say at that moment, but it was also what he needed to hear. He suspected Castiel knew that too and he smiled as he reached in between their bodies to grasp the angel’s neglected shaft. Castiel’s pupils dilated to a deep indigo at the action and he smiled back at Dean as the hunter kissed him again. **Just go with it.**

  


* * * * *

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been laid. It had been weeks since he’d seen Lisa and Sam was obviously not an option. He thought he would’ve missed the sex a lot more, but he’d been able to suppress the tension in that unhealthy way of his, or to find a way to work some of it out through the job. There was nothing like ganking monsters as a cure for sexual tension. At least, that had been Dean’s thinking until he boned an angel. Dean sighed. He had just screwed an angel. If he was going to be all technical about it, he’d banged Anna several years before (hey, everybody makes mistakes), but Castiel was no Anna. Castiel was about as far away from Anna as you could get. And he’d just banged Castiel. **Just go with it.** So he had. Now what?

Castiel lay beside him on his stomach, his eyes closed. He appeared to be dozing but Dean knew he couldn’t be because angels didn’t sleep. Just like Sam didn’t sleep anymore. Dean tried to push his brother out of his mind. It seemed wrong somehow to think of Sam at this moment when he had just shared something so intimate – so downright inconceivable – with the angel. He didn’t want to diminish it, but the parallelism had already been made. Dean had cultivated a cavalier attitude towards sex, but the truth was simple. It was always better when it was with someone you . . . cared for. He cleared his throat. Castiel opened his eyes, knowing that Dean was about to say something.

“We’ve done that before, haven’t we?” Dean had never been one to beat around the bush.

“Yes.” And Castiel didn’t know what beating around the bush meant.

“And you’ve brought me here before?”

“Yes.”

“So, this place is our little ‘love shack’?” Dean said, the slightest trace of amusement in his voice.

“While I would not use those exact words,” Castiel replied seriously, “in a manner of speaking, yes.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re lying.”

Castiel remained silent. It was true. He was lying. He remembered each encounter distinctly.

“Since when?”

Castiel looked troubled.

“Since when, Cas?”

“Since Alastair.”

Dean’s eyes widened, his mind sorting through all the events that had happened since then. Alastair. It was so much longer than he had anticipated. Had he really been cheating on Sam all this time? Because wasn’t this what this was? Cheating? On Sam? On Lisa?

Dean turned on his side to face the angel, propping himself up with his arm. “Here’s the million dollar question, Cas. Why don’t I remember any of it?”

Castiel shifted as well, propping himself up so that he mirrored Dean’s actions as he faced him. “You asked me to remove those memories.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Remind me to teach you how to play poker, Cas,” he said. “If I haven’t done so already,” he couldn’t help but add. 

“What does poker have to with this?”

“Dude, you just lied to my face and you didn’t miss a beat.”

“Then how do you know I am lying?”

“Because I would never ask you to do that.”

The barest hint of a smile ghosted Castiel’s features and he lay back down and stared at the ceiling. Dean shifted closer, placing two fingers at the base of Castiel’s throat, feeling the calm pulse beneath. Then he trailed his hand down the angel’s chest.

“Do we have this conversation every time?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t get tired of it?”

Another faint smile. “No.”

“Then you know what I’m going to say next?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s hand had worked its way back up Castiel’s chest and was now resting on top of the angel’s heart. “What am I going to say?” he asked.

“You will ask me to return those memories.”

“And will you?”

Castiel turned to look at him, his expression serious and a little sad. “Yes,” he answered.

And before Dean realized it, Castiel was reaching up, placing two fingertips on Dean’s forehead. Castiel’s touch burned like a white-hot flame and Dean struggled not to lose his bearings as vertigo came over him. The room was spinning violently, but it was filled with the flashes of memories being restored. The experience was overwhelming. It was too much information, too much sensation, too much emotion. Dean thought he was having a seizure and he collapsed on the bed. He was blacking out. When he came to, Castiel was leaning over him. It was a relief to see that the angel didn’t look worried, not that Castiel ever really looked worried.

“Let me guess,” Dean said, his voice hoarse as though he hadn’t spoken in a while. “That happens every time too.” 

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

“Christ,” Dean grumbled. “You’d think you could return my memories without the sledgehammer effect.”

“I am sorry,” Castiel added, and he truly did look apologetic.

Dean was starting to get a better grasp of his newly returned memories. He could process them more clearly and there was so much to process. Whichever way he turned, however, he ended up at the same conclusion and he looked at Castiel in wonder. How could he not have known?

Castiel seemed to be shrinking away from him, and before the angel could move away, Dean grabbed hold of his waist and held him in place, flushing their bodies together. He knew Castiel could resist him without so much as an ounce of effort, but the angel only mirrored Dean’s actions again and placed his hand on the other man’s waist.

“You must hate this part,” Dean said softly, eyes focused on Castiel’s lips. They were so near. If he leaned forward just a little, he could kiss them.

“On the contrary,” Castiel said, just as softly. “This is precisely why I return your memories . . . every time.” 

Castiel’s words made Dean look up. He couldn’t imagine how Castiel could keep doing this, how he could even stand to be in Dean’s presence with this sort of knowledge. He couldn’t believe how indifferently he treated the angel at times, how selfish some of his demands were. He was about to ask ‘Why?’ but Castiel cut off the question before it could materialize by leaning forward and kissing him.

God, Cas was a good kisser and as they made out slowly and languorously on the bed, Dean was dimly aware that he had taught Castiel all this, that the angel’s responses and reactions, that the full breadth of his emotions, were never more human than when he was in bed with Dean. It both humbled and crushed him because he knew with every fiber of his being that Castiel loved him and that he loved the angel in return. Neither of them had ever actually said the words aloud. There was no need. Dean’s memories were saturated with the emotion. They tinted every expression on Castiel’s face, every inflection in his voice. It hadn’t always been that way, certainly not on Dean’s part, but it had grown and now it just was. A profound bond. Hadn’t those been Castiel’s words when Dean had asked for his help recently? The angel was the master of understatement.

“Why do you do it?” Dean asked as Castiel did his best to distract him by trailing a line of kisses down Dean’s throat.

“Do what?” Castiel responded, even though he knew full well what Dean was referring to.

“Why do you take away what we share?”

Dean’s voice had grown hard and Castiel stopped. The angel was prepared for this part of the ritual too. He looked up. “Because of Sam,” he said honestly.

“Sam?” Dean echoed.

“You love your brother very much.”

“And what?” Dean asked. “I can’t love you at the same time?”

“You will always choose your brother before anyone, before anything,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. “Before me,” he added, after a short pause.

Even now Dean was struck by how much the angel reminded him of Sam. “You don’t know that,” he answered, but his protest was weak because they both knew that Castiel was right.

“It is as it should be.”

“I don’t believe that,” Dean said more forcefully and this time, he meant it. “What you do? It’s cruel and it’s selfish.”

The confused expression on Castiel’s face told Dean that he’d gone off-script; that they hadn’t had this particular conversation before.

“Cas,” Dean said, leaning forward and placing his right hand on the angel’s face. “Don’t you understand that every time you strip away my memories, you also take away my free will? You take away my ability to choose.”

“The choice is pre-determined.”

“That’s not the point,” Dean said, exasperatedly. “The point is, I should have that choice. Because it’s **not** pre-determined. And why should you carry this burden alone anyway?”

“It is my burden to carry.”

“It’s **our** burden,” Dean corrected. “You’re not alone in this.”

Castiel looked troubled again and Dean knew that the angel was seriously considering his words.

“Don’t take my memories away this time,” Dean said urgently. “Not now. Not when I need something to hold on to. Promise me, Cas.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said.

Dean was about to argue some more but Castiel was drowning out his protests with his kisses. Dammit, Dean thought as he allowed himself to be swept away by the angel’s touch. He’d taught Castiel too many of his own tricks.

  


* * * * *

After they’d made love twice more, Dean fell asleep on his side with Castiel spooned behind him. Castiel’s arm was draped across Dean’s waist and he had propped his head up in his left hand so that he could watch Dean sleep. He always enjoyed watching Dean sleep. Sometimes he thought it was even better than the sex. When Dean was with him, Castiel made sure that the hunter experienced the peace and calm that so eluded him in his waking hours; that often eluded him in his dreams.

Dean had been only partially correct when he had called Castiel cruel and selfish for taking away his memories of their time together. The truth was being with Dean terrified Castiel. There was nothing he wouldn’t do if Dean asked him, whether it was against his better judgment or not. That kind of single-minded devotion Castiel had only experienced once before, and that had been in the service of his Father. Dean was fallible and imperfect, but his will and his spirit represented all that was good in humanity, all that had been worth fighting for and saving. Castiel couldn’t imagine existence without Dean any more and the pebble that was Dean’s life in the endless flow of time left Castiel cold. It would be worth it to fall to earth to spend a single lifetime with Dean than face the rest of eternity alone. But Dean would never ask that, no matter how much Castiel secretly wished for it. There would come a time when Dean’s soul would be in Heaven, but Castiel knew that would be too late. Dean didn’t know it, but Heaven took away free will. And when the Winchester Gospel was complete, he would be more tightly bound to Sam in death than they had ever been in life. That was the real reason Castiel withheld Dean’s memories, and why he would continue to do so.

These moments with Dean had taken on the patina of a ritual. For all his acts of rebellion, Castiel was still very much a creature of habit. Ritual gave order to his life; it raised actions to the level of symbolic significance. It was dogmatic of him, bordering on fetishistic, but it was also a device to keep his feelings for Dean in check. Ritual gave Castiel the illusion of control. And as he watched Dean sleep, he knew this encounter was nearing its end. In a little while, he would place his fingertips on Dean’s forehead and draw those memories out of him while Dean slept. He would stay with Dean a little longer, the limited form of his vessel mapping every sensation, every physical detail. Castiel always felt weighted down by this body, by the heaviness of limbs, and the effort of moving. That was what being human meant, to be weighted down, both literally and metaphorically. Yet Castiel understood that in this limited form, he was closest to Dean and so he protected his vessel vigilantly. This was the form Dean knew and recognized; this was the form he would retain.

The final part of the ritual was the most heartbreaking for Castiel. Just before returning Dean to wherever he had been and bending time fractionally so as not to make his absence noticeable, Castiel would kiss him twice, once on each eyelid. These kisses signified Dean’s own blindness. The hunter would never know how much Castiel cared for him.

It was at it should be.

 

**Fin.**


End file.
